Page 70 of Unveiled

Irial sagged into her, exhausted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought I heard—” Her voice cracked. “It felt like someone I knew. Someone long gone.”

Xiathen stepped forward, his expression as gentle as moonlit water. “It is no fault of yours. Nightwrought prey on longing. On grief. They reach where the heart is weakest.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room. Adrian’s gaze flicked to Connor, quiet, steady, grounding, and for a moment, Adrian felt the Valour bond hum in recognition, a pulse of shared certainty. We will protect them.

Moira emerged from the kitchen with a blanket in hand and a face set like carved stone. “Bring her to the fire. She needs warmth, not questions.”

Connor nodded, helping guide Irial to a cushioned bench beside the hearth. Flames crackled softly, throwing gold across her pale face. She leaned toward the heat like a flower toward the sun.

Fraser stood watch near the door, arms crossed, scanning the windows and corners as if expecting the shadows to move again.

Max positioned himself beside him. “Whatever that thing was,” he muttered, “it wasn’t there by chance.”

“No,” Xiathen said quietly. “It was sent. Or stirred.”

Adrian’s voice was low. “By the Council?”

Xiathen hesitated before answering. “Perhaps not directly. But their influence—their hunger—echoes through smaller things. Scouts. Tethers. Echoes of their will.” Xiathen’s eyes grew troubled. “Tonight was a warning.”

Connor set his jaw. “Then consider it received.”

The townsfolk had gathered. Frightened, whispering, and watching Irial with wide eyes. Children clung to their parents. The elders huddled close, speaking in low murmurs. No one dared raise their voice.

Adrian sat beside Irial, offering her a warm cup of something herbal. “Drink,” he urged softly. “Just a sip.”

She obeyed. Her hands shook, but her breathing eased. “I thought it was him,” she whispered. “The voice felt familiar. Like family. Like home.”

Xiathen crouched before her. “Nightwrought do not speak. They mimic echoes, emotional shadows left in your memory. It was not your brother. It was never him.”

Irial’s eyes filled with tears. “I know. I know now.”

Connor placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe. We’ll not let anything take you.”

Around them, the mood shifted. Not in relief, not yet, but a fragile thread of hope.

Adrian stood, addressing the room quietly but firmly. “Listen to me, all of you. Tonight proved something important. Glengáill is not prey. You are not helpless.”

Connor stepped beside him. “We face this together. Brannigan and Gauthier. Town and clan. No one here stands alone.”

At that everyone in the room exhaled. Piper straightened. “Then we watch out for each other.”

Moira nodded. “We keep lanterns lit.”

A murmured agreement swept through the inn.

Irial, wrapped in her blanket, managed a tired smile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “All of you.” She motioned Adrian closer. “You pulled me back,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

He swallowed hard. “We were terrified. You didn’t answer for so long, not really.”

“I was elsewhere,” she said, her voice drifting like a thought half-remembered. “And now I’m not the same. The Nightwrought didn’t only take from me. They also left something behind, and I took it.”

Before he could ask, she reached into the pocket of her torn cloak. Her fingers curled around something, then withdrew a small, dark stone no larger than a thumbprint. It pulsed once, faintly, like a heartbeat. “I found this where I was,” she said. “It’s a sigil stone. I’ve imbued it with my essence.”

She placed it in his hand, and the moment his skin touched it, warmth bloomed up his wrist, threading into his chest like a tether pulling taut. Adrian startled. “Irial?”

“It won’t hurt you,” she said quickly. “It can’t. It’s bound to my power, but you shape it. You decide when it wakes, when it listens, what it becomes. I merely lend the spark.”

The warmth steadied, settling like a second pulse against his own. “Why me?” he asked, his voice low.